


When You're Drunk

by Kellyscams



Series: Kells' Fic Fest [17]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Bucky, Declarations Of Love, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Muteness, Mutual Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Top Steve, duel pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 03:25:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6139926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyscams/pseuds/Kellyscams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seventy years ago, Bucky Barnes was in love with Steve Rogers and could only express his love for him under the misguided courage of drunken nights. </p><p>Seventy years ago, Steve Rogers was in love with Bucky Barnes, and could only have Bucky's love under the misguided courage of drunken nights.</p><p>Seventy years later, what happens when a drunken night is nearly impossible?</p><p>((the sequel to  <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5911978">When You're Sober</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You're Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: If you're still taking prompts, I would really like to see a part 2 to when you're sober in the 21st century, to see how the boys try to deal with all the feelings they never talked about! Love your writing, sweets! 

It’s been a week of silence. Self imposed. There are plenty of words in there, but Bucky just can’t figure out how to say them. Over a year ago he found his way back to Steve, and since then has been fighting and working to be the worthy man Steve thinks he is. Bucky’s come a long way, he knows that, and it’s been _months_ since he’s fallen into this silent realm. This is not like the beginning when he really just _couldn’t_ talk for days or even weeks at a time. This is something different. He could talk if he wanted to and even has. Just… not to Steve. Because he doesn’t know how to say the things he wants to say to him. And it all started last week. When he realized how in love with Steve he was. Has been. Always. 

Once upon a time ago, this was something Bucky’d been struggling with for years. Wanting so badly to tell Steve how he felt about him day and night. Back in those days -- before the war, before the serum, before seventy years of torture and brainwashing -- there had been one way. One way to love Steve the way Bucky wanted to. Out in the open. Love on his lips and in all his breaths and beneath his fingertips. Bucky could never figure out how to love Steve when he was sober. But he could love Steve when he was drunk. 

Unfortunately, the very same reason he’s alive and with Steve now, is the very same reason he can’t ever love Steve again. The serum running through his blood might not be as good as Steve’s but it’s enough to increase his metabolism the same. So, like Steve, Bucky can’t get drunk anymore. Which means he can’t tell Steve how he feels. And since that’s _all_ Bucky can seem to think about, he, instead, says nothing at all. 

“What’re you reading?” Steve asks when he sits down on the couch with him. 

The answer to that sits right on his tongue. The fourth Harry Potter book. Too afraid something other than that will come out, Bucky just lifts the book to show him. Steve’s said it was his favorite, and Bucky, so far, can see why. Bucky only started it today and he’s almost done. 

“What part are you up to?”

He’s trying to get him to say something. Anything. Times are different now, and maybe Steve won’t think he’s disgusting if he just says it. Out loud. _I love you_. Bucky puts the book in his lap and points to the sentence he’s reading. 

There’s a smile on Steve’s face. Forced and strained, even though he’s trying hard to not to let that show. It’s his eyes that give him away most. They’re missing the sparkle when he smiles. The cute little crinkles that dance along the corners of them. 

“Hey.” Steve pats Bucky’s thigh. “Why don’t we go for a walk? It’s starting to get really nice out. It’s warm.” He’s starting to ramble. “It could be nice. Get out for a bit.” Bucky hasn’t left this whole week. “It’ll be nice. Fresh air.”

Bucky should say yes. It’ll make Steve happy and Steve’s right about getting out. Some fresh air might do wonders. But then, going out for a walk might bring them across happy couples. Maybe even fighting couples. The point being there might be couples and that’s not what Bucky wants to see right now. Looking down at the book in his lap, he shakes his head and keeps on reading. 

A few minutes of silence stretches between them until Steve, bless his heart, starts rambling on about dinner.

“How about we have spaghetti for meatballs?” Steve shakes his head and tries that again. “I mean, meatballs for spaghetti. I… oh, for cryin’ out…” Bucky holds in a small grin at Steve’s fumbling. “Do you want spaghetti and meatballs for dinner? I’m gonna make spaghetti and meatballs for dinner.”

Steve heaves himself off the couch and huffs as he makes his way to the kitchen. Once he’s alone again, Bucky laughs. No wonder he loves this guy so much. Bucky sighs. He should help Steve. For more reason than one. For starters, Steve has been so wonderful and patient and loyal. The least Bucky can do is help cook. Also, Steve’s not exactly a good cook. For all his patience with Bucky, he’s got about ten percent of that when it comes to the culinary arts. So if Bucky doesn’t want to eat burned sauce and hard pasta, he should help and keep Steve from skipping ahead to the next steps of the the recipe too soon. 

In the kitchen, Bucky gets all the ingredients out and places them in front of Steve. Steve thanks him and then proceeds to ask Bucky for each thing when he needs for it. He tries to skip dicing the onions, trying to dump them into the cooking sauce in chunks. Taking hold of Steve’s wrist before he can, Bucky shakes his head and stops him before it’s too late. 

“Alright, alright,” Steve grumbles and sits back down with the cutting board to dice up the onions the way they should be. Catching the smile on Bucky’s face, Steve smiles back as he gets to work. “Hey, Buck?”

Bucky’s chopping garlic and looks up at Steve automatically. His face falls. The way Steve’s looking at him, it makes Bucky’s heart pound. 

“Please,” Steve whispers. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

Nothing, Steve. There’s nothing wrong. Except that Bucky’s incapable of telling him how he feels and it’s tearing him apart. He can’t remember how. How did he do this day after day and pretend that everything was fine? He did it for years and now can’t manage it for even a day. 

“Did something happen?” Steve asks softly. “Is it… me? Did I do something?”

Guilt rises up like bile. Bucky wishes he could get rid of it the same way. He can’t have Steve thinking he’s done something wrong. Placing a hand on Steve’s, Bucky shakes his head. Shakes it with effort and meaning so that Steve knows it’s not his fault. 

“Okay. Okay, I just… okay.” Steve brings the now decent sized onions to the sauce. He sighs as he adds them. “I just wish you’d talk to me.”

Steve is worried, and Bucky’s not helping. In fact, it’s his fault that Steve’s worried in the first place. Bucky pushes away from the table, leaving the bit of garlic there for Steve to use. 

“Where’re you--”

There’s only one thing Bucky can think to do and he needs to go see Thor. He’s going to fix this. One way or another, he’s going to fix this. 

***

“Steve!” Bucky exclaims with a laugh as he stumbles back into their apartment about an hour later.

One hour. That’s all it took to gather enough strength to talk to Steve. Okay, one hour and about six shots of Asgardian liquor. 

“Hey, Stevie, where are ya?”

Probably the bedroom since Steve comes sprinting into the living room from the hall. His eyes are wide and there’s a smile on his face. Like hearing Bucky call out to him has just about made his day. 

“Bucky?” He chuckles. “Are you--”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish that since Bucky bounds over to him. He trips a little along the way. Over nothing, and lands in Steve’s arms. 

“Bucky, what--”

Fuck, he’s still so pretty. He is. Even if there’s a _slight_ blur around him. No blur can get in the way of those baby blues and the long, dark lashes that blink over them. And those lips. So red and plump. Soft under the tip of Bucky’s finger as he traces over it. 

“Are you…” Steve shakes his head. “Are you _drunk_ , Bucky? How did you… did you steal Thor’s mead?”

“Didn’t steal nothin’, Stevie.” Bucky hiccups and rests against Steve. Ear pressed up to his chest, and it occurs to him that this is so different. Steve used to lean up against him like this and Bucky would wrap him up in his arms. Now, it’s Bucky tucked in _Steve’s_ arms. “Thor is a sharerer. Sharerer… _sharer_.”

Steve sighs and says something too hushed for Bucky to really catch. Next thing Bucky knows, they’re crossing the living room and entering the kitchen. A chair scratches loudly against the floor as it’s pulled out from the table, and Steve lowers Bucky onto it, then goes over to the sink. 

Excitement flutters through Bucky’s stomach. This is how they play the game. He always hates the ending, but it starts like this. With soft touches and sweet declarations. 

Bucky gets out of the chair Steve’s left him in and slowly reaches for the back of Steve’s neck. Just to place his fingers there like he did when Steve was small and skinny. Except this time, when Bucky reaches out, Steve turns back around and Bucky’s fingers collide with his cheek. 

“Oh!” Bucky exclaims as Steve fumbles to keep his hold on the glass of water he’s got his hands. “M’sorry.” He spits a giggle. “I didn’t mean to, uh, to…”

“It’s alright.” Steve hands the glass over. “Here. Drink this.”

Bucky glances at the offer. It’s probably a good idea. Especially with the room starting to spin around him the way it is. He takes the glass and sips from it. Or gulps. Some of it dribbles down his chin. Steve’s thumb wipes it away. And Bucky freezes. 

They’re very close to each other. Closer than they’ve been in weeks. The heat from Steve’s body gently touches Bucky’s skin. Makes the hair rise on his arms. Steve is watching him oddly. With this strange look in his eyes. An old look. One Bucky can remember, even drunk on Asgardian mead. 

“Look at you,” Bucky murmurs. “So pretty, baby doll.”

“Bucky…” Steve breathes.

His eyes close softly when Bucky does what he used to do and leans in. Slowly. Just like he used to, Steve holds very still until their lips meet and Bucky kisses him. A shock flies up Bucky’s spine. He’s kissing Steve. It’s unfamiliar. Different from what it used to be, but still Steve. Soft and warm against Bucky’s mouth. Kissing back with unsure caution. Fingers comb through his hair, gently taking a soft grip and keeping Bucky right where he is. 

When the sweet, soft kissing comes to a stop, and Steve pulls away, he rests his lips against Bucky’s brow. 

“Lemme take you inside,” Bucky says. Same as he used to. “Lemme make you feel good.”

“Tell me you love me,” Steve whispers. All part of their games. How Bucky always wished they could play forever. “Please, Bucky. Tell me you--”

“I love you, Stevie.” It’s like he’s released a long held breath. He’s said it. Said the words that have cursed him into a week of silence. “I love you, baby doll.”

Steve sucks in a deep breath through his nose and kisses the top of Bucky’s head. Belly dancing with joy, Bucky smiles. 

“Let’s go inside, Buck.”

If Bucky had had _one_ less shot -- or maybe a few less -- maybe he’d scoop Steve up into his arms like he used to. Carry him to the bedroom the way he deserves. As it is, if he tries, he might fall, so he lets Steve take him by the hand and lead him there instead. Bucky stays close to him the whole time. A physical ache turns his stomach when he thinks about the game ending. About not being so near to Steve. Only when Bucky tries to kiss him again, Steve places his fingers over his lips and he guides him over to the bed. Pulls the blankets back and tucks him in. 

“Sleep it off, Bucky. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Something tight and painful squeezes at Bucky’s chest. This isn’t… no, this isn’t right. This is not the way it’s supposed to go. Steve is breaking the rules. Changing the game without even telling Bucky first. 

“What’re you doing?” Bucky asks. Even _he_ picks up on the hurt in his voice. “Why’re you leavin’?”

“You’re drunk, Bucky.” 

“So? This is how… we do it. Isn’t it?”

Steve turns when he’s in the doorway. Bucky’s stomach sinks. He can’t remember Steve ever looking at him that way. Not since he’s been back anyway. The room is spinning faster now and Bucky’s starting to think maybe this was a bad idea. 

“Do _what_ , Buck?”

Instead of answering that, because, hand to God, Bucky’s not even sure if he could explain it right now anyway, Bucky’s face crumples in pain. Tears flood his eyes and tries to wipe them away.

“Why don’t you love me, Steve?”

There are suddenly arms wrapping around him. Pulling him in close and Bucky can hear Steve’s heart beating. 

“We can’t do this now, Bucky. You’re drunk.” Steve’s voice vibrates through his chest. “If I tell you that I’ve loved you since we were kids, you probably won’t remember.”

Clinging onto Steve, Bucky buries his face in Steve’s shirt as Steve takes to petting a hand over his head. This didn’t work. Why? Why didn’t this work? But it always works. Bucky knows how to love Steve when he’s drunk, and Steve lets him. He _always_ lets him. 

Maybe too much has changed. Steve has forgiven him for so much, but maybe that forgiveness ends somewhere. And it’s here. The one place that Bucky has where he can love Steve out in the open. The one place Steve won’t let him back into. 

***

Bucky wakes with a dry mouth and a pounding headache and groan in the back of his throat. The war. That’s the last time he ever felt so run down. Or run over. Both maybe. He groans again and attempts to roll over. What the hell was he thinking? Asgardian mead? _Six_ straight shots of it? 

Hazy memories of last night tap on his shoulder. He doesn’t want to answer them. Doesn’t want to face whatever he did last night since it can’t have been anything good. A thought confirmed when Bucky sees the glass of water, bottle of aspirin, and a folded piece of paper on his nightstand. Bucky’s too grateful for the water and aspirin to pretend they’re not from Steve. The note puts lead in his stomach. 

_We need to talk._

_Go back to sleep. When you feel better meet me in the kitchen._

Collapsing back into the pillows, Bucky wonders briefly how much effort it would take to sneak in and out of the window for the rest of forever. But since just the _thought_ alone is exhausting, Bucky simply drifts back to sleep. 

The sun is low when he wakes again. Swirls of pinks and golds paint the sky out in the distance. A soft, yellow sunbeam crawls across the floor of the room. Headache gone, but stomach growling, Bucky remembers the note Steve left for him. That window looks appealing for about thirty seconds before Bucky decides he’s not _that_ big of a coward. He tosses the blankets back and ambles into the kitchen. 

Lo and behold, Steve _is_ in there. Arms around himself, Bucky just stands in the door and watches as Steve sketches at the table. 

“Are you just gonna stand there?” Steve asks before flicking his eyes up. “Or did you want to come and sit with me?” When Bucky doesn’t move or even answer, Steve’s face falls. He moves away from the table and slowly comes over. “You… you don’t… _need_ to be drunk, do you? To talk to me?”

Oh.

“No,” Bucky whispers. He shrugs a shoulder. “Sorry. I shouldn’t’ve done that.”

Steve puts a hand at the side of Bucky’s neck. His palm is soft and warm against his skin, sending a wave of heat that rolls over him.

“Last night, you--” 

“I didn’t mean it.” He probably did, but, for the life of him he can’t remember what he said or how he acted. All Bucky can remember is he came onto Steve and Steve rejected him. It’s just too much to face it all over again. “I’m sorry. I--”

Steve doesn’t let him finish that. He just grabs the sides of Bucky’s face, holds him still, and kisses him. Long, deep, passionate. He quite literally steals his breath away. 

“What…” He gasps and pants when Steve moves away. His hands are still there and their faces are close and Bucky’s heart is pounding. “What was… that for?”

“I just…” Steve closes his eyes. “I wanted to know what it was like. Kissing you. Sober.” His hand caresses Bucky’s cheek. “You remembered. All those nights. You remembered the next day, didn’t you?”

“S-Steve…”

“Say it, Bucky. Please, say it.” The look on his face is so desperate. Like Steve’ll do anything for Bucky to do what he’s only ever done drunk. “Please…”

“I love you, Steve.” The words fall from his lips. He just can’t keep them in any longer. “I love you. So much, baby doll.”

“All this time,” Steve whispers. He smiles and presses a kiss to Bucky’s mouth. “I love you, too. I love you, Bucky.” He kisses him again. “Love you.”

This almost doesn’t feel fair. The way he’s helpless against Steve’s words. Against the way his lips keep pressing against his neck and his throat. And yet, it feels so right. All he can do is give in and let himself melt to Steve’s touch. 

“Take me inside, Steve,” Bucky murmurs. 

Everything's different now, and Bucky’s feet come out from under him as Steve scoops him into his arms. With Bucky’s arms around his neck and mouth against his. Steve places him gently on the bed. Bucky lays back on his own as Steve slowly takes takes his pants off for him. 

Bucky groans as Steve begins to pepper soft kisses up his thigh. He doesn’t touch his cock yet. Steve’s mouth moves to Bucky’s other leg. Kisses there as well before moving up to his hips and then his belly. His lips touch every inch of skin they can reach as he makes his way up to Bucky’s collarbone. The touch there has Bucky shivering. Melting underneath Steve’s touch. And he hasn’t even really touched him yet.

“Steve…” he breathes. “Please… I need…”

“Sh. It’s okay.” Steve’s mouth feathers over Bucky’s chin. “Relax, sweetheart.” Those words, the sweet, gentle tone to Steve’s voice, it sends Bucky to places he never thought possible. “You took care of me for years.” He kisses Bucky’s nose. “Now I’m gonna take care of you. You’re never gonna have to worry about telling me anything ever again.”

Bucky’s never felt like this before. So peacefully helpless. Safe under Steve’s careful touches and powerless to hide his heart from him any longer. This is nothing like being with Hydra. When they took and took and took. Steve is giving. With every kiss, every touch. The slicked up fingers that smoothly slide into his body to start opening him up for Steve. 

There’re three fingers inside of him, working in and out as they fill him up and make him tremble, when Steve slips his mouth over his swollen cock. Bucky cries out in surprise at the hot moisture that encompasses him in sheer bliss. He thrusts his hips up to capture more of the sensation. Steve snatches his hip and pushes him back down. 

“Steve… oh _fuck_ , Steve…” Fists bunched up in the sheets beneath him, Bucky whimpers and begs for more. “Please… Steve… I want you. Please…”

Steve lifts off his cock and smiles. “You have me, Buck. You’ve had me for years. You just didn’t know it.”

A tear rolls down Bucky’s cheek. How many years did they waste? Too many. Too many years hiding their love behind drunken encounters. Nights they pretended they didn’t remember when those nights were the ones they held onto most. Steve kisses that tear away and nuzzles his nose into the spot between Bucky’s neck and shoulder. 

Steve’s name falls from Bucky’s lips when he eases into him. Taking his time to make sure that Bucky’s okay, even stopping to ask. The answer is yes. Yes, Bucky’s never been _more_ okay as Steve rocks into him. Slow and gentle. Working them both closer and closer to climax. 

“Bucky,” Steve whispers. “Oh, Bucky, you feel so… so good.”

“Steve…” Bucky whimpers. “Steve… Steve…”

The world flashes white when he comes with Steve inside of him. 

Bucky is sober. And so drunk in love he can barely even see straight. 

~~

Steve comes inside of Bucky. Breathless and panting, he holds him close to his chest. Bucky’s breath warms his skin. His heart beats happily against his ribs. The tears in his eyes feel good. Tears for a love so overwhelming he can’t hold them back. 

Bucky’s arms around around him and Steve tucks him in closer. As if even a small space between them will make it all go away. For years, he let Bucky love him drunk. He’s been waiting for this moment for more than seventy years. To finally have Bucky. _Really_ have him.

“Say it again, Buck,” he whispers into Bucky’s hair. “Please?”

“I should have told you everyday,” Bucky murmurs. Lips brushing against his chest some more. “I love you, Stevie.”

They still have so much to talk about. But this is how it starts. A sober evening. Their love out in the open. And now that Steve has this, he’s never going to let this go. 

"I love you, too, Bucky."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This was a part of Kells' Februrary Ficlet Fest
> 
> The February Ficlet Fest are all ficlets that are based upon prompts sent to my tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/).


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